The Eiffel Tower turns 125: A practical matter The Eiffel Tower turns 125 A practical matter

People queuing at the east pillar of the Eiffel Tower will have to wait two hours to reach the ticket booth. wasted time? no way. Because viewed from below, the tower is at its most beautiful. It presents itself as a heavenly cathedral, bright and translucent to the top, built with a minimalist effort of iron, air and light.

The wind carries the scent of waffles and the cries of the shell players, who are miraculously able to magic away money entrusted to them by tourists hoping to increase their fortunes. Ihab and Asma don't notice much of this. You are busy with yourself. They are in love. Ihab is a spitting image of Bayern Munich coach Pep Guardiola. The strawberry-blonde Asma could make her money on the catwalk. "We're in the electronics business, in the same company," Ihab clarifies. He is from Dubai, she is from Tunisia. They jetted to Paris for two days. "Visiting the Eiffel Tower is a must for people living in Dubai or Tunisia," says Asma.

Apparently the same is true for the rest of humanity. The tower has to cope with a good seven million tourists every year. The confusion of languages ​​in the forecourt gives an idea of ​​what happened when the Tower of Babel was built.

Beyond the ticket booth and the metal detector is faster. One cog now meshes with the other. Elevators glide noiselessly along studded iron girders. Grids, ribbons and signs channel the flow of people. Visitors striving up and down circulate in separate systems. Collisions are excluded.

Grids should prevent those who are tired of life from jumping into the depths

From the second viewing platform, the view falls on a grey-white undulating sea of ​​houses. During the journey to the third and highest platform, the climate must have changed. The sea no longer waves. It lies there very quietly, interspersed with a few splashes of colour, the grey-green ribbon of the Seine, the golden dome of the Invalides. The Montparnasse Tower and the skyscrapers of the La Defense business district seem to have shrunk to Lego bricks. The fascination wears off. The bird's-eye view looks familiar. Paris looks similar from the plane.

The platform itself is reminiscent of the summit station of a mountain cable car. The facility seems sparse. Icy wind penetrates jackets and door cracks. On average, it is three degrees cooler up here than below. A Brazilian couple nibbles shivering on pizza slices. The view seems irrelevant. The telescopes decorated with gold rings are deserted. The camera eyes of cameras and smartphones are directed more towards the inside. Countless selfies are created. A school class joins them. Children look through bars that are supposed to prevent those who are tired of life from jumping into the depths, and their faces shudder with pleasure.

If the tower were only beautiful, it could hardly have lasted that long. The zeitgeist is a moody fellow. What is beautiful today may seem hideous tomorrow. With foresight, the builder and his descendants have always ensured that the raison d'être of the building is not only based on beauty, but also on utility. Many a facelift that the old lady received has increased her practical value rather than her aesthetic appeal. This definitely applies to the most recent interventions on the first floor of the tower that have not yet been completed. Construction workers are laying a three-centimetre-thick glass floor there, building a conference venue and a projection room that will certainly be attractive to companies.

While there was mostly agreement on usefulness, opinions on beauty differed widely. Writer Guy de Maupassant and opera architect Charles Garnier lamented "a monstrous tower" that would bring shame to Paris. Eiffel was undeterred. For the inauguration, the engineer climbed to the top floor and on March 31, 1889 at 1:30 p.m. hoisted the tricolor on what was then the tallest building in the world. Cannon boomed from below. In the evening, the tower shone in the glow of 10,000 gas lanterns.

From the James Bond backdrop to the fireworks display

The attempts to flatten him, the iron giant survived them all. It was to be demolished as early as 1909. Opponents of the tower argued that it was only approved as a provisional solution for the world exhibition for a period of 20 years. Eiffel countered this and set up a research station on the highest platform to explore materials and their flight characteristics. From then on, the tower was to lend itself to anything that was asked of it. It was a broadcasting studio, a diving station, an ice rink and also a James Bond film set. And of course the old lady will again serve as a fireworks stand on July 14th, the national holiday.

The tower is also an airy location for a top restaurant. Michelin-star chef Alain Ducasse runs the Jules Verne on the second floor of the tower. An elevator leads directly from the south pillar to the restaurant. The step is muted like the light. Waiters serve seafood cream and green asparagus in truffle foam. Outside, night has fallen over Paris. The white-grey flood of houses has given way to a flickering sea of ​​lights. Ducasse once said that more than a restaurant, the Jules Verne is a place that conveys a dream.

115 meters below, the Senegalese Ali goes about his business in a sweatshirt, sweatpants and sports shoes. The 23-year-old offers Tin Eiffel Towers for sale. The palm-sized replicas dangle from iron rings. They cost between one and five euros. As Ali brushes a rook off the ring, he lets his eyes wander around, shifting restlessly from one foot to the other. He has no residence papers, he says. He came to France with two friends in 2010. The three of them rented a room for 320 euros a month. "The Eiffel Tower keeps us alive," says Ali.

Asma and Ihab join them. Asma smiles. She stretches out her arm, fingers slightly spread. She now wears a ring on the middle one. Diamonds set in gold sparkle in the light of the tower floodlights. "Ihab gave him to me upstairs, he wants to marry me," she says.